It Feels so Good, so it Must be Right.. (A Led Zeppelin fanfiction)

Come on, lets go!

The overpowering scent of alcohol, cologne, and the subtle undertones of the wooden instruments laying on couches and standing in corners, lingers in the air. Empty bottles of Jack Daniels lay on the floors and the short glass coffee table in the centre of the room. Without words said, the scene tells that a group musicians had recently inhabited the now empty room. The only sound to be heard is that of a shower running from down the hall. Seconds later, the water shuts off. Silence for another few moments before the creaking of the wooden door echoes through the small hotel room, followed by footsteps on rotten floorboards that were polished to look new. A young man, with dripping wet, golden curls makes his way out to the sitting room, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. The fluffy white piece if fabric stops just below his hip bones, showing off the muscles in his lower stomach. Several beads of water slide down his chest, catching on the prickles of hair leading down his torso. Thin fingers weave their way through his hair, combing back the unruly mess as he arches his back into a stretch. His thin lips parted into a yawn as he staggers over to the couch, collapsing right beside one of the many Les Paul's that clutter his room, left here by his dark haired guitarist. He leans his nearly nude body down beside it, his towel now draping loosely across his waist, covering from his upper thighs, to his pelvic bone. He buries his face in the cushions of the couch, soothed by the subtle hint of Jimmy's cologne lingering near the guitar. The ticking of the clock hanging on the wall told that less than five minutes had passed before Robert had fallen fast asleep, comfortably curled up next to the large wooden instrument. Tousled blonde ringlets hang down in front of his eyes, rogue frizzy bits and pieces sticking up all over his mass of hair, giving him a rather unkempt look.

A quiet creaking carries through the silent room, faint enough to not wake the sleeping musician, but loud enough to be heard from every corner. The band, Led Zeppelin, had decided to stay in a-- cheaper hotel room for the week, not wanting to waste a single penny on unneeded items. An unwanted detail that came along with this room, was creaky hinges, rotting floorboards, a broken toilet, cold water in the shower, and the most uncomfortable beds you could imagine. It was only January, and they were on their first ever America tour- not a very good first introduction to American hotels, was their opinion. One month in and they were staying in West Hollywood, California. Their stay was planned for five days, shows every night but the last one. They planned to to do a bit of exploring on their day off. Though Jimmy had announced he was taking a nice, long nap, he had recently changed his mind when a bed spring shot up through the surface of his mattress, narrowly missing his shoulder. Day two of their stay in Hollywood had been filled with arguments between the band, and the owner of the hotel, mainly about the broken necessities.

They have two hours until they have to get to Whisky a Go Go for their sound check, and Robert's original plans were to explore the neighbourhood around the hotel for that period of time, before he has to meet up with his band again; though his current sleeping state proves he changed his mind. A peaceful look rests on the sleeping singers face as his mind carries him away to a world of groupies and fame, a world where they were bound to reach eventually, but he's startled awake by Jimmy tugging the guitar out of his arms. Roberts eyes shoot open as he nearly topples off the couch, his gaze meeting the wide eyed guitarists. They exchange curious looks for a moment, the Golden Gods cheeks immediately turning pink at the realization he had been curled up to Jimmy's instrument as if it were a lady in his arms.

“I- I just fell asleep.. I didn't mean t' be cradling it like that..” Robert stutters out a excuses as he sits up, pushing his still damp hair out of his face.

“Rob, a guitar is supposed t' be held like a woman. Caressed an' held like a lover.” He responds with a cheeky grin and a teasing wink, resting the Les Paul by his side. “Sorry 'bout wakin' ya though. I wanted t' bring 'er down t' th' club before tonight. Just so I don't forget. Y' want t' join me? Maybe we could-- I dunno, get a drink or somethin'. Maybe see what girls will go with two strivin' musicians like ourselves, yeah?” With a subtle chuckle, he nodds his head in the direction of the door, dark eyes flicking to see Roberts current nakedness. “After ya get some clothes on that is.” His playful grin only widens as he shakes his head, turning and making his way towards the door. “I've got a car parked outside, meet me down there when you're ready, yeah?” Before Robert could say another word, the raven haired man has slipped out the door and down the hall. 

"Right.. Right,." Robert muttered to himself under his breath as he takes hold of the loose towel once more. With hooded eyes he wanders towards his room to get ready to go out. Perhaps this would give the two men a chance to get to know each other better. Though they worked together a lot, they were closer on a musical level, than a personal level. Robert had been hoping to learn more about the mysterious dark haired guitarist, though their egos often clashed in the past. His hopes were to discuss lyrics maybe. Lyrics always tell a lot about a soul. Where their mind is, Where they're going. Hopefully this little adventure would help them to-- draw closer..